


Knowledge

by enkelimagnus



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Alchemist Nott, Alternate Universe, Beauregard Lionett & Caleb Widogast Friendship, Estranged Spouses Bren & Astrid, Expositor Beauregard, Fantasy Racism, Multi, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Resistance, Scourger Caleb Widogast, Shitty Law Enforcement procedures?, Tarot, War, religious oppression
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-09
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:55:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 12,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26914756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enkelimagnus/pseuds/enkelimagnus
Summary: After the Traveling Carnival of Curiosities settles in Rexxentrum, Yasha and Mollymauk are visited by two Empire agents, investigating Yasha under false pretenses.They are thrust into an ongoing war, forced to either take a side or run away.-------------Mage Bren Ermendrud and Expositor Beauregard Lionett work as allied investigators for the Empire's crown. They get a fairly usual warrant to look into Xhorhasian Yasha Nydoorin's visit of the Empire, but the investigation cracks open hidden reserves of doubts in both Beau and Bren, and pushes the depths of their loyalties.-------------An AU in which Molly, Yasha, Caleb and Beau are just doing their jobs, until they can't afford to do just that anymore.
Relationships: Beauregard Lionett/Yasha, Caduceus Clay/Fjord, Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast
Comments: 14
Kudos: 105





	1. Suspicious Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> This is the first chapter to a fic that will probably have many many more. I will be writing this as it comes, so there probably won't be that much of a schedule, sorry!
> 
> Things are quite different in this AU, and you'll pretty quickly see what I mean by that.
> 
> If there is ANYTHING you think I should have tagged, please let me know!
> 
> Enjoy

The needle slid in between threads of the sunrise orange pants Molly was embroidering. It would be simple, just lines in gold and silver thread that would create diamonds-like patterns all over the legs. Something to add a little shine to the already colorful piece of clothing. 

Rain had been falling all day on the waxed-fabric tents of the Fletching and Moondrop Travelling Carnival of Curiosities. They hadn’t gotten a lot of sunlight at all since they’d started heading towards Rexxentrum. Molly couldn’t help but find it strangely fitting. 

Rexxentrum wasn’t a bad city. It was a big, beautiful and bustling city, filled with people they could easily con out of a couple of coins for a fortune or a hug in Yasha’s beautiful, muscly arms. He was the only person in the world who didn’t have to pay for those, and he was quite thankful for that. He would be incredibly broke otherwise. 

Yasha stepped through the flap of the tent at that moment, drawing it back a little. Her boots made a disgusting squelching noise as she stepped in. The Mudtop Ward was well-named. They could probably start adding mud baths to the list of things the carnival offered. 

“Is a storm coming?” Molly asked, focusing more on his embroidery than on her walking around the tent. “Or is it just raining a lot?” 

“It’s just raining a lot,” Yasha sighed, sitting down on the bed by Molly’s side. He moved his legs so she would have space. “He hasn’t called me back out there again.” 

Molly sighed, looking up from his work for a second. Yasha looked a little tired. Bruises appeared easily on her porcelain-white skin. Her hair was wet from the rain, her skin cold to the touch as he brushed his fingers against her cheek. 

“Be careful, my darling,” Molly hummed. “This is Rexxentrum, not a Southern village. He’s not welcome here. I have no desire to have to break you out of the King’s jail.” 

Yasha’s fingers traced the lines he’d already made in the fabric of the pants. “I don’t know how you do it. Pretend you’re not… hers.” 

Molly shrugged. “You know it,” he whispered. “You know the story. It was part of… how I found her. Gustav told me about her. And told me about the Platinum Dragon. Told me I should hide, and that I should pretend I am not hers. I’m used to it. Survival first.” 

Yasha’s sigh was loud as she reached for the clasp of her cloak, taking it off and putting it up next to the small fire to let it dry a little. “I walked through the neighborhood a little. It’s definitely the poorest part of town. Made me think of our two weeks in Zadash, for a moment.” 

Molly closed his eyes for a second. “My favorite part of it was-”

“The two companions at the Pillow Trove, I know,” Yasha pointed out. “But the one night we were rolling in luxury, it was pretty much this shitty.”

The flap of the tent opened again. “Yasha? You have company,” Gustav called out as he entered briefly. 

There was an orange cat tangled in his legs, dashing through the opening in the tent to the bed where Molly and Yasha were still seated. Molly reached down to scratch the animal lightly behind the ears. Its fur was a little matted with mud. 

Yasha stood up, stretching her arms out a little. “They can come in.” 

Two figures walked into the tent, and the relaxed, pleasant and rainy atmosphere suddenly tensed. The sounds of rain against waxed fabric was louder and more threatening. Yasha crossed her arms and stared, unblinking, at the first of the two figures.

It was a tall, but thin, red-haired human man. He stared right back at her, seemingly unshaken by her intimidating presence. They never were. 

Empire people were never intimidated, at least not at first. They were made arrogant by the power of their government. And this was one was an Empire mage through and through. Red and grey robes, the emblem of the Cerberus Assembly stitched in silver thread over the heart. He stood straight, shoulders back. Molly could feel his hair standing at the back of his neck. They were always bad news. 

At least there was a Cobalt Soul operative with him, meaning he probably wasn’t there to hurt them. The other was human too, Molly could smell it from there. He distrusted that smell. He didn’t exactly know why; he just didn’t like the way humans smelled.

The only human that didn’t irk him was Desmond, and that was only because he smelled of everyone else in the Carnival, so many other smells that it covered the human smell. 

“Why are you here?” Yasha asked simply. Molly knew her enough to hear the edge of animosity under her calmness. 

The Cobalt Soul operative stepped forward a little more. The mage spoke up, voice low and firm, eyes darting from Yasha to him. Molly could hear the accent. Zemnian. He had met a few humans from the Zemni Fields before. None of them liked tieflings.

“We are only here for information, Miss Yasha Nydoorin,” he said quietly. “Nothing else. We know about Orphan-Maker. There is no pretending.”

Molly stood up from his chair, tail swishing nervously, and came to stand by Yasha’s side. He probably wasn’t as intimidating as she was, but he knew tieflings made these people uncomfortable enough.

“What’s wrong?” He asked quietly. 

“Expositor Beauregard Lionett of the Cobalt Soul,” the woman introduced herself. “And this is Mage Bren Ermendrud of the Cerberus Assembly. We’re here on purely investigation business.”

She slid a piece of paper out of her coat and held it out to Molly. “That’s our orders.” 

Molly pretended to read it, despite the fact that the letters jumbled in his head without meaning when he looked at it. 

“Fine,” he muttered. He looked at Yasha for a moment, seeing her locked jaw. The dangerous pain in her eyes was worrying. The pair of Empire agents were here on official business. 

Yasha held out her hand and Molly handed her the piece of paper. Her eyes quickly ran through it. Her head shot up as she reached halfway through the text.

“Investigation into unauthorised forms of worship?” She asked, eyebrow raising. Molly swallowed. Had they heard them talking before?

“The Orphan-Maker is a recurring name within circles that worship a so-called Angel of Iron, back in Xhorhas,” the mage said. “We’re only doing our job here. All we need is information.” 

Yasha shook her head. “I’ve never heard of this. The Orphan-Maker was my tribal name but I haven’t seen any member of my tribe in years. I have nothing to do with the Angel of Iron cult. I’m a proud worshipper of the Knowing Mistress.”

The Expositor’s eyes narrowed a little. “Then you’d know that she doesn’t like secrets.” 

Yasha nodded. “I know.” She reached into her collar, taking out a pendant she wore. It was a circle, with three eyes carved into it. “I’m not lying,” she replied. She was. Molly knew she was. And he prayed she’d gotten better at it recently.

“Have you visited the Archives in Rexxentrum yet?” The Expositor asked, keeping on her line of questioning. 

“I have,” Yasha continued. Her arms were crossed over her chest as she waited. “It’s a beautiful building. Blue. It’s in the Tangles. A bit of a hike to get there, I admit, but entirely worth it.”

The color of the building wasn’t hard to guess, considering every Cobalt Soul monk they’d ever crossed had worn blue robes. But hopefully it would be enough to get them off of Yasha’s back. 

“Didn’t see you there,” the woman shrugged. “Maybe next time then. Yasha Nydoorin, right?” 

“Right.” 

The mage nodded for a moment. “My colleague will be searching your tent now. Please provide me with identification papers in the meantime.” 

Molly reached into his pocket for the folded piece of paper that had his information on it. So did Yasha. The monk started going through their stuff, and she seemed to actually be trying to not completely make a mess, which Molly appreciated. They shouldn’t find anything. As far as he knew, they both kept their symbols on them at all times. 

“Mollymauk Tealeaf,” the mage read. “A colorful name.” 

Molly smirked. “If you haven’t noticed, I am a colorful individual.” He did a little spin on himself, brightly-colored coat and jerkin and pants and skin on display. 

“Born in Shadycreek Run, right?” The man raised an eyebrow. “Nothing good ever comes out of that place.”

“I wouldn’t know. I left it days after my birth,” Molly replied. Yasha’s eyes followed the monk. She was now looking over Yasha’s cloak. She was a human woman with bronze skin and dark hair. Molly had to admit the blue of her monk attire really suited her. 

“Yasha Nydoorin,” the mage continued. “Your race isn’t listed,” he pointed at the empty space on her papers. 

“I don’t know what I am. My family is long gone,” Yasha replied coldly. Molly wanted to kick these people out now. They were asking too many questions that were uncomfortable.

“Xhorhasian?” The man continued. Bren Ermendrud. Molly commited the name to memory. He didn’t like that name, or that man. “We do not have many Xhorhasian refugees around,” he pointed out. Something about the way he said that made Molly’s tail shift nervously. The Empire and Xhorhas weren’t on the greatest terms, as far as he knew. 

“I arrived in the Empire relatively recently,” Yasha shrugged. “Escaping the tyranny of the cricks, of course.” 

“The Empire is glad to count you as an ally,” the monk cut in as she walked back towards them. She turned to her colleague. “All clear. No symbols or signs of worship other than several objects to the Platinum Dragon.” 

Molly slid his pendant out of his collar. “My deity, in this case,” he explained, dangling the silver, red and blue pendant in front of them for a few seconds before tucking it back in.

He stood by Yasha’s side, barely moving as the two humans looked around for a few more instants. The questions about Xhorhas and their religions were worrying. They’d been asked about the religious things before, but never this directly. And from what a loose-lipped, drunk crownsguard had once told Molly as they laid in a too-cheap inn bed, the Empire and Xhorhas weren’t in great terms.

Yasha rarely talked about Xhorhas, and when she did, it was bitter. They were all stories of damp cold and swamps, of grey skies and the suffocating knowledge there was no getting out of there. At least the last part had proven to be wrong.

The mage left with only a nod and no words. 

“Good evening,” the Expositor said. She looked a little frustrated by her colleague’s attitude. Her smile was almost apologetic. “Be careful where you go in Rexxentrum. You should keep yourself to the Cobalt Soul and the Mudtop ward,” she warned, before walking out of the tent.

Molly exhaled, shaking out his arms. The pressure suddenly released made him a little giddy. “Fuck,” he growled. “Fuck, that was bad.” 

He was expecting Yasha to start cursing as well, but she didn’t. She was dead silent. He turned to look at her. 

Yasha was looking at her cloak, staring at it, a grave look on her face. He followed her gaze. 

A long time ago, he’d stitched the symbol of the Stormlord in the interior of the cloak, in thread the same color as the material. But with the way the light of the candles was hitting the thread now, the symbol was obvious, shining out on the matte surface of the fabric. There was no way the Expositor had missed it.

She looked up at him. Yasha was naturally pale. Now she was whiter than a ghost. 

\------------------

“What the fuck are we going to do?” Yasha asked. 

Molly cradled the cup of ale Gustav and Desmond had poured them when they’d rushed into their tent. It wasn’t great but it was strong. These two always have strong drinks and good advice and it was one of the many things Molly liked about them. 

“Well, at least that monk didn’t… rat us out,” Molly pointed out. It made no sense why she wouldn’t, at least to him. Against a monk and a full-blown Cerberus Assembly mage, he wasn’t sure Yasha and him would be able to stand their ground. 

“She saw your swords. Maybe they’re coming back with crownsguards or others, to help in taking Yasha,” Gustav pointed out. His long brown hair was held back with a tie. Desmond didn’t have his usual make-up on. It was the evening and they didn’t have a show tonight. Everyone had been relaxing. 

Desmond nodded, sitting down by Gustav’s side. “If they think Yasha is a Xhorhasian spy, they’ll be wanting the full force of the law. We’re talking crownsguards, at least one other mage. There’s been stories of supposed Xhorhasian spies found dead. People say it’s Scourgers.” 

_ Scourgers _ . A shiver ran down Molly’s spine. The stories about these people gave him nightmares. They might not even exist, at least Molly hoped the Empire wasn’t horrible enough for that, but the word  _ Scourger  _ or its twin  _ Volstrucker,  _ was enough to send many running. 

“So I need to leave,” Yasha nodded. Her voice was tight. Molly reached for her hand. 

“ _ We _ need to leave. We’re a team,” Molly reminded her. 

She smiled at him sadly, turning back to Gustav and Desmond after a moment. “I don’t want you to be in trouble because of me. If you know a way for us to leave the city without making waves, we’ll take it. Else, we’ll just leave through the night and do our best.” 

They stayed silent for a moment. Gustav and Desmond looked at each other, a quiet conversation passing in their gazes. Desmond stood up suddenly, going to grab his cloak and wordlessly disappearing outside of the tent. Molly frowned. Gustav sighed heavily after a while and moved forward, leaning towards them and lowering his voice.

“We might have a way,” he said quietly. “Desmond went to get the people that can help you.” 

“Why the secrecy?” Molly raised an eyebrow.

Gustav shook his head. “These people… We’re not supposed to know them. This is illegal business. The kind that would not get us just a month in prison, but… Executed.” 

“What?” Yasha asked. “Since when are you traitors to the Empire?” She asked, voice as low as she could get it, but rushed and filled with worry. 

There was a glint of something hard to recognize in Gustav’s eyes. “I don’t think I’ve ever not been, Yasha dear.” 

Molly couldn’t help the delighted grin that pulled on the corners of his mouth. He loved this man. He loved these people. Having to leave them was heart-breaking but at least it was like this. 

“The Carnival is our home and our livelihood. But it’s also an amazing way to travel around the country under different pretenses,” Gustav shrugged. “Many have taken advantage of that.”

Molly remembered the people that sometimes came for a couple of weeks, helped put up tents and distribute meals, and then left again, with barely a name left behind. There had been few at first but in the last year, he could remember many faces like these. Refugees maybe, criminals almost certainly. They all were, all had committed some kind of crime.

“You’ll be safe soon,” Gustav assured. “I’m… I’m sorry you have to leave us. We’ll miss the two of you greatly. But I would rather know you are somewhere safe, far away on the Menagerie Coast, than in a prison, or worse, close to us.”

Unexpectedly, Molly stayed silent. He took a sip of the ale, but it couldn’t dissipate the knot in his throat. 

Leaving the Carnival was something he’d known would happen one day. It was the nature of it, really, the nature of the life he’d led for almost two years now. Carnies came and went, people like him and Yasha especially. They’d both hopped into the Carnival life to get away from their pasts, and they were bound to stop some day.

He hadn’t expected it to be like this though. He’d expected to arrive in a nice place one day that he could think of calling home. He’d expected finding another path to follow, one quieter and less dangerous. He’d expected tearful goodbyes, maybe, but by broad daylight. He’d expected to watch the carts of the carnival drive down the road as he waved goodbye at them.

This wouldn’t happen. They would leave like thieves. The Carnival would stay behind, not move forward. They would have to lie about him existing in their lives. He would have to never see them again, no matter how old he got and how peaceful his life turned out to be.

These people had clothed him, named him, cared for him when he was but a husk of a person. They’d taught him everything he knew, his crafts and his words and his faith. They’d taught him how to paint his nails and his face, taught him to fight back. Given him everything they could give him.

He wouldn’t be Mollymauk Tealeaf without Gustav Fletching and Desmond Moondrop and the quiet and unspoken love they’d bestowed upon him.

Yasha sighed a little. “We’ll be careful. Keep your names out of our stories. I promise you won’t be bothered because of us,” she said quietly. 

“Good,” Gustav nodded. “We’ll do the same.” 

Molly drank the rest of his ale quietly. 

\------------------

Bren had been living in the Candles for eighteen years now, longer than he’d lived anywhere else. Yet, he still felt slightly less at home in this neighborhood than he did anywhere else in Rexxentrum. He almost preferred the Mudtop ward to this. 

It was all beautiful vibrant gardens, filled with flowers so bright he was certain spells were behind the colors. Nature was beautiful, he guessed, but living here for too long had taken the joy out of it. Nature as it was couldn’t compete with the Candles’ magical gardens. He was almost sure that it was on purpose.

What was the magic of nature to the magic of people? Trivial, for sure.

He crossed the gardens quickly, coming up towards the house he had been occupying for the past decade or so. 

It had been a wedding gift from his mentor, Archmage Trent Ikithon. A manor on the lands that he owned, where Bren and Astrid could thrive while under his service. And thrived they had. They were now some of the top operatives of the Cerberus Assembly. Bren was certain either Astrid or him would end up Archmage soon enough.

The house had light walls and dark wood framing windows. It had a black door and curtains the same red as their uniforms. No matter where they were, at work or at home, they were members of the Cerberus Assembly. That was all they were. At least, as far as everyone knew.

Maybe it was a bit of overkill, the almost ostentatious flaunting of their belonging to the Assembly. Bren enjoyed it however. Besides, considering how certain Assembly members acted sometimes, it wasn’t exactly out of character. The difference was that Bren and Astrid actually had something to hide behind the colors.

The door closed behind him. He slid off his cloak, took off his shoes and the leather bracers around his forearms. He however did not take off the pieces of cream fabric wrapped under the bracers. Those were only taken off if they were changed.

“Astrid?” 

He doubted she was home. Or if she was, she was probably on her way out. 

“Yes,” Astrid’s voice resounded from upstairs.

Bren walked up the stairs to their room. 

Astrid was standing in the quiet light of the room. The curtains were pulled back, and the setting sun shone through. They’d chosen to put their bed in there for that specific light in the early evening. She was buttoning the sleeves of her dress, to hide the maze-like tattoos on her forearms, the same ones Bred hid under linen and leather. 

He leaned against the doorway. She was beautiful. She was short, but thin and elegant, not in an elven way but in a human one. Trent Ikithon had made sure there was none of other blood in his students. Her blond hair was short. The scar on her face didn’t do anything to diminish her beauty. It actually gave her a distinctively sharp and dangerous edge. It was both an advantage and a disadvantage. She could no longer easily pass as scared and pure. She was now either predator or victim.

“How was work?” She asked.

Contrary to him, she’d managed to erase her Zemnian accent. Bren had given up on that himself. 

“Gut. Not very fruitful, but we found a Xhorhasian woman. The kind Ikithon and the Assembly would probably like to know about,” he shrugged.

She raised a pointed, severe eyebrow. “Why?” 

“She’s peculiar. No race. No family. Probably an issue with memory, if all our information is right, which it usually is. Ikithon likes those. Many question marks and a lot of real estate to get the answers out. And no one to go looking after her, except maybe that tiefling she associates with.” 

Astrid pursed her lips. “Ikithon  _ hates _ tieflings.” And she didn’t exactly like those either. 

“Ja, he was a little… shifty. Frumpkin didn’t like him,” Bren huffed as his cat familiar appeared by his side. 

Astrid smoothed the front of her dark blue dress. A long time ago, he would have crossed the distance and wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t.

Between them, touch had become something stolen on particularly difficult nights, something never discussed aloud, let alone in daylight. It was better and easier that way. A small part of Bren mourned for the early days of their marriage, the days where they couldn’t stay away from each other and couldn’t stop kissing each other. Most of him, however, was resigned in knowing those days were over. 

They’d both changed, a little but not enough for it to be really what had pulled them apart. They’d just… grown. And love had faded. And it was alright. 

“You’re busy tonight?” He asked after a moment of silence. That blue dress wasn’t one she wore to work events. It was more something she wore to meet with lovers, or spend an evening in less… formal parts of the city.

“I’m meeting with someone,” Astrid replied. She hadn’t put on her earrings. “Ikithon has me on a new assignment. I don’t think I’ll be home very late, however.” She mused. “It’s just a meeting.”

He knew better than to ask about specifics. Like touch, that had become rare between them. It was not only safer, but also easier, if they didn’t know each other’s work details. If something needed to be discussed, it was at night, laying by each other, and without looking at anything else but at the ceiling, blinded by the darkness.

“Okay. Well. Have fun out there, tonight. And be careful.” 

Astrid nodded, looking at him. “I will. I always am.” 

The scar on her face told another story, one Bren wondered if he would ever know all the details of. 

Without much of a goodbye, she grabbed her purse and walked back down the stairs. Bren sighed a little. He was tired. He heard the door slam behind her and made his way towards the study. He spent more times in there than Astrid did. She had much more field work than he did. That was okay, he guessed.

Ikithon liked her better than he liked him. It hadn’t been like this at first, for the first couple of years of their studying. And then… then he’d set fire to his parents’ home, with them in it, in Blumenthal. And maybe Ikithon hadn’t liked the way he’d gone at it, less cunning and elegant and wizard-like than Astrid’s poisoning. And from then on, she’d been the favorite.

It annoyed him, really, because he didn’t understand why. He was objectively better, wasn’t he? More powerful, more studious. More obedient too. He didn’t fight with Ikithon the way Astrid sometimes did. 

But the Archmage had mysterious reasons. And at least, Bren had been chosen in the first place. 

He grabbed the books and parchments he had on Xhorhas and its people. He had the feeling that Yasha woman was more than what she looked like. And more interesting to Ikithon than whatever Astrid was working on.

\---------------

_ Yasha Nydoorin.  _

Beau traced the list of names, names of people that had visited the Library of the Cobalt Soul of Rexxentrum in the past month or so. She didn’t think the Carnival had been in the city for much longer than that.

Beau had left Bren early and gone immediately to the library. She wasn’t unsure of the symbol she’d seen stitched in the inside of the cloak, but she wanted to make sure the woman was lying. 

The charges against her had been bogus. They always were when it came to Xhorhasian people. It had been easy to find something to pin on her, the second they had found records of someone with the same description as Yasha Nydoorin being part of a Xhorhasian cult. 

They would have found something anyway. The line of action given by the Crown was that the Xhorhasian on the territory of the Empire were better in jail than free. Just in case they turned against the Empire, right? Beau didn’t like that the Cobalt Soul went along with it. 

She’d told her superiors about her doubts before. It hadn’t gone well. They’d threatened her with demotion and possibility worse if she kept voicing concerns like this. She guessed that some of the Xhorhasian prisoners were a great source of information for the Cobalt Soul. After all, they didn’t have much on Xhorhas, compared to everything else they knew.

Truth and knowledge came above all. It came at the price of lives. And that was the way of the Cobalt Soul. That was why they worked with the Cerberus Assembly, despite the Assembly’s hatred of the Knowing Mistress, despite their complete lack of common goal. Because the Assembly’s methods gave them access to more people and therefore more information than any others.

She had known before even opening the heavy leatherbound register that she wouldn’t find the name. She’d known before even searching the tent. She’d known the second the woman had said the name of her goddess, hoping that Beau’s faith and an assumed kinship would shield her. Beau had no faith. 

Her father had had so much that he’d sent her away to be a monk. The tendrils of something akin to faith that Beau had possessed in childhood had been forever burnt away by that act. She was a monk, yes. But the Knowing Mistress could go fuck herself.

Yasha Nydoorin worshipped the Stormlord. She was Xhorhasian and hadn’t been in the Empire for long enough to be out of suspicion. She was strong, with muscles and a longsword to prove it, and Beau knew there would be battle scars under her clothing, even if she hadn’t seen them.

She was exactly Beau’s type. Tori, Keg, Reani, Astrid, Dairon, they were all strong women. Yasha fit in that category. And that meant Beau had a choice between making a mistake and not making a mistake. 

Sleeping with suspects was bad. There was no way to get around that. 

And aiding a suspect because you found her hot was even worse. At least to the Assembly.

She closed the ledger and nodded at the monk at the entrance of the library. She had a decision to make. Allow the hot Xhorhasian woman to escape or immediately go to Bren with her information. 

Beau made her way to the room she lived in in the dorms. She exhaled once the door was closed. She would never get used to having a room for herself, after years of training and sharing dorms with other monks or trainees. But now, she was an Expositor, and one trusted with working with the Cerberus Assembly, at that. The perks were useful in trying to balance the moral issues that came with her new position. 

She reached for the leather tie that kept the non-shaved part of her hair up and pulled on it, liberating her dark brown hair from the top-knot. 

As she prepared to get dinner and get to sleep, she decided to put back telling Bren until the next day.


	2. A Show of Scrutiny

The bar was small, skeezy, definitely not anywhere Astrid would have gone to if she hadn’t been under orders. 

It made sense that it would be where the resistance would offer meet-ups. People didn’t like Empire operatives here, it was obvious. She rubbed her fingertips together through her gloves, peering into the bar through the window. 

There were a few tables. At one of them, a tall green-skinned half-orc was sitting, with a glass of a clear-looking liquid in his hand. He wasn’t drinking from it, clear sign that he didn’t want to get inebriated too fast. There was a barely hidden symbol of the Wildmother hanging from a chain on his armor. Reckless. 

Astrid caught her reflection in the window briefly as she moved back from her spot. She’d disguised herself into another human. Her face was scar-less, with light brown mousy hair and chestnut-colored eyes. It was a slightly rounder face than hers, with softer features and a hit of inhuman ancestry in the tip of her ears, the face of someone a few generations removed from half-elf. The face of a girl who would never have been chosen by Trent. 

She pushed open the door of the bar. The half-orc looked up at her briefly, eyes scanning over her. 

The barkeeper was very happy to serve her an ale for a few more silvers than he’d originally asked for. She slid through the bar, sitting down across from the half-orc. 

Wordlessly, she reached up to flip forward the medallion she was wearing. It was round, simple, and two-sided. On one side was a simple symbol of the Dawnfather. On the one she was showing now, was a symbol of the Changebringer. 

A hint of recognition flashed through his eyes. 

“Fjord,” he said after a moment. “You wanted to meet?” 

Astrid nodded. “Just… got out of jail,” she muttered. Her fingertips slid over the edge of the medallion. “Heard about your organisation there.” 

“You want in or out?” the half-orc, Fjord, asked.

Astrid blinked at him, playing confusion. “What do you mean, in or out?” 

“In the organization,” Fjord added. “Or out of the… area.”

They were smuggling out people. Astrid made another mental note. She had been expecting it, of course. People, especially Xhorhasians, who were caught worshipping illegal gods were disappearing before they could be arrested. 

“How far can you get me?” She asked.

“Menagerie Coast.” 

That also made sense. The Menagerie Coast was well-known for its freedom of religion, and it had been posing some issues in the relationship between the Empire and the Clovis Concord. The fact that this… resistance was providing even more unhappy minorities to the already growing anti-Empire community of the Coast was bad news for the Assembly. 

They didn’t want to have a mini-Vasselheim on the coast of their own continent. Vasselheim was already enough of a pain in the ass. They’d managed to get rid of the thorn in their side that the Cobalt Soul had been for the last century or so. It wouldn’t do to have another thorn grow right into their own land, like an ingrown nail pushing into their very skin. 

“How much would that be?” 

“250 gold,” the man replied. “What you’d be fined for, if you were caught again. I’m guessing you’re well aware of that.”

Astrid nodded. “That would get me to the Menagerie Coast?”

“Or to Uthodurn. Both are where we can get you.” 

Astrid pretended to think deeply about it, taking a sip of her ale. It was strong, surprisingly, with an unexpected aftertaste. She looked over at the barkeeper for a moment, who nodded at her with a smirk. Her extra coin had gotten her a shot of much harder liquor added to her ale. Astrid nodded back, a little annoyed. Her plan to drink the ale and keep a clear head had gone down the drain.

“I’ll need time to get the money together, it’s a lot.”

The half-orc nodded. “I understand,” he smiled a little, a smile of understanding and condoleances. “Our next caravan for Uthordurn leaves in two weeks. For the Menagerie Coast, you’ll have to wait a little longer.” 

“I can do that,” Astrid thought out loud. 

Fjord ruffled through his things quickly and pulled out a copper coin marked by symbols she didn’t recognize as a specific country’s currency marker. “Give that coin to the keeper of the Good Weather Inn in the Mudtop Ward, once you have the money.” He explained. “They’ll let you know the next scheduled convoy.” 

He moved back and stood up. “What’s your name?” He asked before he left, almost as a last second thought.

“Una,” she replied. She almost felt bad for using a dead woman’s name. But after all, she’d died for the good of the Empire. And she was continuing to be helpful now, by helping Astrid root out the criminals of the resistance. 

“Una,” Fjord nodded. “Hope I see you another day,” he smiled a little. “May the light of the Mother shine down on you.” 

“May you be guided into the path of freedom,” Astrid replied. 

The man left. She herself stayed a little longer. Soon, they were both gone, their drinks mostly untouched still on the table.

\------------------------

Gustav’s mysterious friends had revealed to be a little too busy to see Molly and Yasha as soon as possible, but they’d provided them with a room in an inn that was too shady for anyone to ask questions. 

It was located in the outskirts of the Mudtop Ward. None of the patrons looked at them in the eyes as they walked in and were quickly led upstairs to a small, cramped, and definitely not very clean room. Molly and Yasha had been through worse though. They were carnies.

The mattress was thin and stained. Molly grabbed one of his own blankets, the one least precious to him, and put it down on the bed to provide a bit of a barrier between him and the various miasma in the mattress.

“So now we just… stay inside this room for the next like three days?” Molly asked, stretching out on the mattress.

Yasha was looking around the room, checking for humidity stains and possible issues. Dripping water noises were the worst, and Molly’s second least precious blanket would probably serve as a towel and muffling for those. 

“I’m going to go and visit the Cobalt Soul place,” Yasha hummed. “Pretend I didn’t entirely lie to that Expositor.” 

Molly sat up, looking at her. “What if they just… arrest you on the spot?” 

“What’s a month in prison?” She shrugged in a way that made Molly angry. It flared up in his chest suddenly. Every time she acted this way, dismissed her own time and life, it made Molly furious. 

“That’s… a big part of my life,” Molly mumbled. “Besides, we both know this is not about deities,” he huffed. “This is about Xhorhas. And the war.” 

They knew of the war through the people that passed through the carnival. Now that Gustav had told them they had been helping people get out of the Empire…These people had known things. Things that had seemed too specific to be lies, but also too outlandish to be truths. What he’d thought to mostly be stories and fears of disavowed people was probably much closer to the truth than most knew.

“I’ll be okay,” Yasha promised, moving towards him and kissing his forehead. “I promise. If I’m taken, I will Reach you,” she said quietly. “You’ll know.” 

“No news is good news then,” Molly sighed softly. “Okay. Go. Have fun at the library.” 

Yasha had a small chuckle as she grabbed her sword, strapped it on her back and walked out of the room, and out of the inn. 

She exhaled the second she was out. From the corner of her eye, she saw petticoats swishing as someone disappeared into a side alley. She frowned a little. Petticoats and a dress weren’t very stealthy outfits, and she doubted the Cobalt Soul monks would dress that way to investigate her.

She started walking through the Mudtop Ward, keeping an eye on her surroundings. She was a few hundred feet from the inn when something, someone, dashed out of the alley. A dark-haired and dark-skinned human woman. Yasha kept walking.

It took her a good half hour to get to the Cobalt Soul building. The Tangles was a bustling, commercial area, filled with people of all social classes walking around and tending to their business. It was beautiful, messy and colorful. 

The Rexxentrum Library of the Cobalt Soul had four towers growing out of it like arms, cerulean blue and all at least three to four levels tall. It was bright, almost glowing in between the dark stone buildings surrounding it. 

It wasn’t the only colorful building around. The area was, after all, called the Court of Colors. But, by virtue of being the Cobalt Soul library, it was noticeable. 

Yasha didn’t really know what she was searching in there. She was coming to build up her cover, of course, but she had to commit to it and read a couple of books, right? She was tempted to ask about the Angel of Irons but asking around for information on what she was accused to ally with was a bad idea.

She just walked through the doors, trying to think of a topic. She caught sight of a woman’s flower-embroidered scarf and settled on that. Plants native to the region. That was a good research topic, right?

The floor of the main entrance was made of polished marble. Yasha’s boots squeaked with the mud and wetness of days spent in the Mudtop Ward. People turned to look at her, tall and foreign and carrying a sword that looked out of place in the library, tracking mud and travel into these halls of erudition.

There was someone with shaved sides of dark hair and long blue vestments behind the counter of the lobby desk, and they raised their eyebrows at the sword sheathed on Yasha’s back. 

“You’ll need to check your sword,” they said in a bored sounding voice. They were young, barely 20, the kind of kid that wasn’t high enough in rank yet to be given any more responsibilities. 

“Only the sword?” Yasha asked, a little curious, a little relieved.

The monk looked her over. “Can’t see anything else, can I?” They huffed.

Yasha raised an eyebrow for a second. With that kind of security, she wondered how they didn’t have constant murdering and fights breaking out within the archives. She pulled the leather strap that held her sheath to her back over her head and put the sword down on the desk. The monk wrapped a small piece of twine with a numbered tag on it around the pummel. 

“Name?” They asked, grabbing a large leather-bound ledger and a pencil.

“Yasha Nydoorin,” she had to spell out her last name for it to be entered correctly. Next to her name went the tag number for her sword.

“I’ll get you a monk to escort you through the premises,” the desk clerk said, seemingly repeating something they said regularly, if the boredom in their tone was anything to tell by. They stood up and walked behind the desk through a set of curtains. 

People walked by as Yasha waited. There were mostly scholars, most of whom sent her somewhat surprised looks. She was tall and very obviously martial. They were smaller, thinner, probably more dangerous than her. Scholars always hid marvels of powerful magic, she’d learned painfully.

The looks were too curious, too pronounced, unabashed in their goaking that Yasha started reconsidering her research trip. Her eyes landed on the giant doors of the archives, on the people walking by them, on the possible exit she could take now. She exhaled.

She turned around to ask and see if she could get her sword back and hightail it out of there when the young monk came back with someone else. They wore the same sort of blue clothing, though more detailed, and had the same sort of shaved undercut dark hair. Except this one, this one Yasha knew.

They’d only met the night before, and it was obvious that she wouldn’t forget that woman’s face anytime soon. 

The sides of her dark brown hair were shaved, the longer strands on top gathered in a sort of top knot, held by a blue tie. Her eyes were dark too, the left one stricken over by a scar, thin like a single claw mark, her skin colored like bronze. She wore the blue of the Cobalt Soul and a knowing smirk on her face. 

Expositor Beauregard Lionett. Surprising that someone high-ranking like that, used to working with Cerberus Assembly mages, would guide a visitor through the library. Unless it was on purpose.

“Miss Yasha Nydoorin,” the Expositor nodded. “You weren’t lying, then,” she smiled. 

Yasha nodded. The woman knew. She had to know, there was no way it had gone over her head. 

“I wasn’t,” Yasha lied. 

The Expositor’s smile deepened a little, something glinting in her eyes. “Let’s get into the library, shall we?” She said, walking around the desk and gently guiding Yasha towards the entrance to the library, a hand pressing lightly against the small of Yasha’s back.

Yasha nodded and followed her. The corridors were wide, at first. They turned into another, much narrower. And into another, narrower again. Yasha tried to keep track of where they were going, and the way out, the way back to her sword. 

A door was opened, to a small room with a beautiful wooden table. 

“Here you go,” the Expositor nodded. “Now what may I interest you in?” She asked with a smile as the door closed behind her.

Yasha turned around to look at the woman, to tell her about the botany subjects she was especially interested in. She was met with dark, hard eyes instead of the playful, almost flirty ones from before.

“You were lying,” the woman said. “That’s not very… worshipper of the Knowing Mistress of you.”

Yasha swallowed, taking a step back and raising her hands. “Unfortunately, I’m terrible at lying about whose servant I am. It seems like that isn’t so hard for you. I thought the Cobalt Soul was supposed to balance the Cerberus Assembly’s corruption, not ally with it.” 

Anger flashed in the woman’s eyes but she did nothing. Her dark eyes were narrowed and staring right into Yasha’s. 

“I’m not the entire Cobalt Soul.”

“No, but you work with the Assembly easily enough.” 

There was no denying it, Yasha had seen the Expositor work with the mage the day before. They’d seemed to be pretty used to each other, chummy even. 

“I have my orders,” the woman shrugged, but there was a clear… annoyance in her eyes. Something that told Yasha the orders were only followed because they were holding something over her. 

“I see,” Yasha replied, and fell silent. 

The door was still locked behind the woman. 

“Listen,” Yasha added again. She was talking more today than she usually did. “I’m not here to fight you. I’m here to look up botany books, stare at flowers for an hour and go back to my friend. I don’t want trouble.”

The woman softened a little. “You’re… Xhorhasian,” she said quietly. “You will get trouble, no matter what happens. Especially in Rexxentrum.”

Yasha nodded. She’d understood that. It was not just about the Stormlord. “I’m asking a lot,” she continued. “I know that. But you knew I was lying when you walked out, and I’m still walking free. That must mean something.” 

The Expositor watched her for a moment and moved back. “I’ll be back,” she muttered. “If you move from this room, I will track you down.” 

Yasha acquiesced. The woman left the room, the door closing, but not locking behind her. 

There were two ways this could go. Either Yasha would be in a jail cell by tonight, or she would walk out of the Library a free woman, at least for the moment. And it would mean that this woman, this Expositor Beauregard Lionett, was on her side, at least in the privacy of this room. 

\-----------------------

Bren’s footsteps echoed down the staircase leading to the basement level of his house. The house was empty, all staff either gone for the day or busy running errands he’d sent them on. All so he could have some alone time in one specific room. 

No one ever went there. The couple of servants the Ermendruds had had forgotten that this room existed. Mind-altering magic was not that hard to wield, especially not when you were Bren Ermendrud. 

He turned the key into the lock, a both mechanical and magical key that only had two copies existing in the world, and pushed the door open. It smelled acrid of alchemical recipes and sour of acid. He would never get used to it, he thought.

The one he was there to see was sitting on her stool, hunched over a stack of papers, writing feverishly.

“Just finishing the grocery list, I’ll be right there,” the goblin said in her particular high and broken voice, a strange high-pitched croakinness that Bren had started to like, that had started to bleed into his mind some days, when he thought of something she would say.

“Do you have the usual weekly batch?” he asked almost softly. 

“Yup, but we’re running dangerously low on some things there, Mister.” The goblin swivelled around in her stool, holding out the piece of parchment in her green-skinned clawed hand. There were bright colors on her nails, one color on each, ranging from sun yellow to a distinct maroon shade that he knew Astrid loved. 

“You went into Astrid’s makeup,” he pointed out, a little chastising. 

“She never uses it,” the goblin shrugged.

“Nott…” Bren trailed off, taking the piece of parchment and quickly reading through the component list. It was written in an untidy fashion, messy script that denoted unease with writing implements. “I have some of those upstairs, I’ll get them to you. And the rest I’ll send someone to get.”

“As long as I get them,” Nott pointed out. “If I don’t, you’re the one that’s going to have to deal with missing your precious potions for a while.” 

“And you’re the one that’s going to run out of usefulness for me,” Bren replied immediately. 

The goblin chuckled quietly. She hoped off of the swivelling stool she used and walked over towards a case of carefully packed vials. 

“Sleep, pain, and a couple of alchemical fires,” Nott nodded. “Go easy on the pain ones though, they’re quite concentrated and should last you about ten uses.”

“Thank you,” Bren took the case she was holding out for him. 

The goblin fell silent for a moment, walking to order some papers on her desk in an uncharacteristic manner. She was a rather messy worker. Bren could feel she was trying to bring herself up to telling him or asking him something. He did nothing to ease her nerves, simply waited.

“Do you have any more news about my family?” She asked after a moment, looking back towards him. Her sigh was heavy, her hands knotting together nervously.

He could lie to her. Tell her he had, that they were dead. Break her spirit and keep her there forever, in this dark room, never to be reunited with anyone she ever loved, making him potions that no one knew he had. He could tell her he had, and that they were looking for her. He could tell her he had, and that they were in Xhorhas. There were so many things he could say, so many lies he could tell. She looked at him, waiting for his answer, open and vulnerable. He could see those weaknesses, his training and life telling him to slide through these cracks and hurt her.

“I don’t,” he breathed out. “I asked. But no one knows, or no one will tell me.”

It surprised him to hear himself saying the truth.

“Oh.” 

He swallowed. “I could ask the Cobalt Soul. They might know some information, they’re good at that.” 

Nott looked at him again. “Could you?” 

Bren nodded quietly. He barely said another word, barely a thank you as he walked back, closed the door and walked back up the stairs to his quiet home. He hid the potions in his study, trying to ignore the foreign feeling of guilt gnawing at his stomach.

\-------------------

Molly sat cross-legged on the bed of the inn, waiting for Yasha to come back. She’d been gone for a couple of hours now. He had to admit he was really worried. He should have gone with her. Two were stronger than one, always. No matter the situation.

He exhaled, trying to shake out his nerves. His tail was hitting the blanket in an unnerving rhythm. He’d always been bad at controlling it, whenever some sort of emotion took him. And right now, all he could think of was the possible fate of Yasha, out there alone with both the Cerberus Assembly and the Cobalt Soul after her.

He reached over for his coat, for the special deck of cards in the inner left pocket, the one that rested over his heart. The cards were held in a metallic case, dirty and worn, darkened by time and use and being opened on the road in sometimes less than ideal conditions. The metal was worked, pushed into designs of moons and flowers, but it was worth little to nothing, only maybe the price of scrap metal. Yet, it was one of Molly’s most prized possessions. 

He opened it and took out the cards. 

Contrary to the box, these ones had been kept in the best state possible. There had been a sorcerer travelling with the Carnival once and they’d enchanted them to forever stay in a pristine state in exchange for a month’s worth of chores. Molly’s back had hated him, but it had been 3 months and there wasn’t a single stain, no matter how much rain poured on him or how much combat and hunt he saw.

He shuffled them into his hands, the familiar edges fitting right at the joint of his fingers. It was daytime still, and he couldn’t see the moons anywhere, but he knew they were out there, that She was out there. And that was all that mattered.

He focused down on that, on his heartbeat and the cards and Her presence, everlasting and comforting. No matter what happened to him, no matter where he was in the Material Plane, the moons would always rise and the night would always come. The certitude was a well-needed comfort on days like this one.

He split the deck in two and pulled three cards, letting his fingers, his instinct and hopefully the Moonweaver guide him.  _ Will we be okay?  _

The first card he pulled was one that he hadn’t completely finished yet. His deck was a constant work in progress and some cards missed illustrations or even names sometimes. This one had a name, a background color, but no illustration. The Monk, in cobalt blue, the color of the only monastery order that he knew. Yasha’s handwriting was familiar, even if the word wasn’t. Molly knew that collection of letters together enough to know what it meant, however. Especially when it was reversed.

Rebellion. Nonconformity. Paths that were unexplored. 

Molly frowned a little. And pulled the second card. 

The Silver Dragon, reversed. The dragon wasn’t exactly silver. It was painted in a light grey because the life of a carnie didn’t allow Molly to buy the expensive silver and gold paints he would have needed for some of these cards. The mouth of the beast was open, flames of blue and red coming out of it. Silhouettes of humanoids stood darkened by charring inside of the burst of fire, mirrored by the silhouettes at the back of the dragon, a group protected and dancing in their safety.

Abused authoritative power. Tyranny. 

Well. Molly almost rolled his eyes. That was a little on the nose, considering the situation, wasn’t it? 

He pulled the last one. 

The background of the card was red like blood, the figure, laying dead on the ground of the carnival tent in the picture, familiar in Molly’s memories. He remembered the day that person had died, their own boomerang-enchanted dagger stuck in their back after a trick that had gone wrong. He’d exaggerated it slightly in the picture, however. Ten swords of various heights and sizes stuck from the orc’s back. Ten of Swords.

This card was not one of his original ones, and more something borrowed from the regular deck he saw many using. He’d yet to make enough to be able to completely take out the suits of swords, wands and cups. 

A great tragedy, a major disaster.

Molly looked down at the three cards. Would they be okay? Rebellion was on their side, no matter what that meant, while tyranny was going against them. He didn’t need cards to know that, considering they were hiding from the government while waiting to be exfiltrated by the rebellion. 

And a great tragedy was around the corner, if they weren’t careful. That was obvious, because Yasha was out there alone, walking right into the wolf’s mouth in an attempt to make her cover story seem real.

Molly groaned unhappily. “I know all of that,” he muttered. “Don’t you have something else to tell me?” 

He pulled another card. 

A round face with blue skin, white hair, one eye white and the other red stared back at him, the recent moon rising behind them like strange horns. The Forbidden Goddess, one of the cards that represented the Moonweaver the most directly. 

That one was almost openly telling him he was being too nosy. 

Molly huffed in annoyance, tail flicking. If he’d gone on the path of a cleric, maybe he could have used a Commune spell and asked her directly but unfortunately, that wasn’t his path, and he either had to deal with that overly honest bullshit or her usual tricky illusions. He put the cards back together and into his coat.

Either way, he was fucked. No.  _ They _ were fucked.

  
  



	3. The Rexxentrum Chase

Beau had gathered the books Yasha had asked to see in her hands, a small pile of three tomes, one leather-bound and two other cloth-bound. There were many books on botany in the Cobalt Soul. Despite its focus on history, religion and the arcane, it wasn’t hard to find many other topics. 

The Knowing Mistress was a goddess of knowledge and truth, no matter the field of study. Botany was as important a subject as time magic was, to Her at least. Definitely not to Beau’s higher-ups in the order’s hierarchy. 

She turned around with the books in hand. She was met by the dark gaze of a strangely familiar lanky half elf. They smiled slightly. Beau approached them, raising an eyebrow. 

“I wasn’t expecting you around any time soon,” Beau pointed out, although She was smiling. 

They nodded. “Me neither. But there’s a couple of things we need to talk about.” 

Beau had been right. Her eyes landed on the massive clock on the wall of the library. She hadn’t been gone from the Xhorhasian’s assigned reading room for that long… She could probably take a detour.

“I trust this won’t take too long,” she nodded, and started walking.

The half-elf followed her, a couple of steps behind her. She made her way into the Cobalt Soul dorms, nodding at some of the people they passed. She was much more… social than she’d once been, and people had stopped being surprised at her rude behavior, and rather had started expecting a bit of decorum from her. Sometimes, she wondered if that was a good thing.

The half-elf slid into the room, following her. She closed the door behind them.

When she turned around to face them, the half-elf had changed form. The disguise had been dropped and a taller, stronger and much greener half-orc was standing where the half-elf had stood. He smiled at Beau, the scar going down the left side of his face stretching a little with the motion of the subcutaneous muscles.

“It’s nice to see you, Fjord,” Beau admitted.

They only really saw each other when Fjord’s people needed information, and it had been a while. They tried to space out the meetings not to raise any attention, and had stopped sending their less stealthy members to meet with Beau. She worked surrounded with skilled monks and spies, and some of the liaisons they’d tried to establish hadn’t been well-suited. 

“It’s nice to see you too,” he nodded. “I have to admit I bring quite the workload for you.” 

Beau shrugged. “Give me the names and I’ll do what I can. I’m always happy to help.” She liked helping the resistance. It gave her something to fight for, that she’d been supposed to find in the Cobalt Soul. It made her feel less terrible about helping all of these assholes.

Her work with the Cerberus Assembly gave her a good cover to ask for information on people. No one questioned how many names she brought to the table; it was easy to slip in some extra. 

Fjord leaned against the table in the middle of her room, crossing his arms. “It’s the usual background check, you know. There’s someone called Una, I have no last name on her, but she was recently convicted for worship of forbidden deities. She just got out of jail, so it shouldn’t be from very long ago,” he started listing. His accent was a little stronger on the name, pointed and rounded in that specific sort of estuary, Port Damalian way.

“What’s the deity? It’ll be easier to look that way,” Beau asked. Forbidden Deities Worship accusations were listed under the deities’ names, instead of just the person’s file. It was much easier to keep up with, if you wanted to check for certain symbols found in certain places. 

Unless of course, you somehow were smart enough to use symbols so niche no one knew what it was. There had been a string of desecrations of temples with green-painted doorways and penises drawn on statues and altars. Beau found it hilarious. Statues of the Platinum Dragon with dicks on their faces? Amazing. Her hierarchy was also going insane with how little information they had on those doorway symbols.

“The Changebringer,” Fjord nodded. “She pretends to worship the Dawnfather.” 

Beau made note of that in her mind. She knew better than to actually write down these things. “What do you need to know about her?” 

“She wants out, to either Nicodranas or Uthodurn. So general check on that, but nothing too deep, she’s not a prospective member.” 

Beau nodded. “Okay. Una. Changebringer, last couple of months. Next?”

“Yasha Nydoorin and Mollymauk Tealeaf, they travel together.” 

Beau blinked, an eyebrow raising. Well that really quickly cut down all the possible theories for what these two would do to escape their charges. They’d reached for the rebellion. 

Fjord opened his mouth to keep going but she stopped him. 

“We’re investigating them. Mostly her, but him by association,” Beau pointed out. “And she’s currently in the building desperately trying to build up her “follower of Ioun” cover.” 

Fjord sighed heavily. “I should have known,” he looked down. “I think Caduceus forgot to enquire why they were running.” 

“And it’s not just the Cobalt Soul, Fjord,” Beau’s voice was much more tense than before, and Fjord picked up on that immediately. “It’s the Cerberus Assembly too. It’s a joint operation.” 

“With that partner of yours, Bren Ermendrud?” 

Beau nodded. This was very worrying. And it was pushing her much more towards open treason of the crown and open treason to the order of the Cobalt Soul. 

“I… I don’t want these people to end up in jail. Especially because they’re not only being investigated for religious issues. She’s Xhorhasian,” Beau explained. “But I can’t… This is a lot, Fjord. This is the Assembly.” 

Fjord looked solemnly at her. “I understand,” he said softly. “We do not want to put you in too much trouble. You’re much more useful to us alive and free within the order than falling for two people we don’t know… However-”

“What?” Beau snapped, something small like fear gnawing at her stomach. She thought she knew where she stood with the resistance. But there were so many things she didn’t actually know. She was a source, a pawn. They might sacrifice her if she was too much work, or didn’t deliver enough. 

“I’m going to be honest with you. Nydoorin and Tealeaf came to us through very crucial members of the network,” he explained. His voice was much lower than before. “If they’d been from anywhere else, it would have been less complicated of a situation. But both them and you are important people in this… chess game we play with the Crown.” 

“So I’m fucked?” Beau breathed out. 

“No,” Fjord immediately shook his head. “But… we need you to work with us right now, while we decide what to do now that we know the exact circumstances of their coming to us.”

There was so much on the line. Beau could lose everything. Her work, her position, her passion. She could lose the tentative friendships she’d formed with both Fjord and Bren, and, to a certain extent, Astrid. She could lose the people she’d found in the order, her place in the world. Her freedom too. 

She swallowed, hard. “What do I do then? She’s right in the building.”

Fjord exhaled. “You let her go.” 

Beau closed her eyes and her fists, taking a deep breath.

\---------------

Yasha walked out of the Cobalt Soul Library, a little dazed. 

The Expositor hadn’t come back. She’d waited and waited, for the books and the sentence, but the woman hadn’t come back. Another monk had come to let Yasha out eventually, once the public opening hours had come to an end. She’d spent hours in that room, worried that she wasn’t going to ever see Molly again. Only for a couple of words from a stranger.

She’d looked around the corridors but the expositor was nowhere to be found. So she’d left. And now she was standing outside again, breathing, free for now. She had no idea what to think, really. 

There was something else bothering her too, a feeling of being watched that she’d felt the second she’d stepped out. She frowned and looked up in the direction she thought the eyes were coming from.

Standing on the other side of the great plaza of the Court of Colors, half hidden next to a flower merchant, was a dark-skinned and dark-haired human in fluffy skirts and several layers of petticoats. The same sort of petticoats that Yasha had seen disappearing into an alleyway earlier. She was being followed.

The human stared back at her for a second before running off, obviously having noticed Yasha had seen them. 

Yasha couldn’t go back to the inn though. Not right now. She couldn’t lead them back to Molly, even if there were big chances they already knew about him. She started walking in the complete opposite direction to where she was supposed to go, and praying silently to the Stormlord that they weren’t completely fucked.

\-----------------

Yasha was taking an obvious amount of time and Molly was a little annoyed by that. He wished she knew how worried he was when she was gone like this, especially in these conditions. It had been hours. Almost six, as far as he had been able to count. It was now nearing dusk and he was going a little mad with worry. 

Molly stood from the bed for a moment. The cards were still sitting on the blankets but he knew better than to ask again. He would probably get a metaphorical fuck you from his beloved Goddess. 

He leaned over and gathered the cards to put them back in their box. Just as he was closing the top of the box, a loud crashing noise resounded, right behind him. 

He bolted out of the bed, hand reaching for one of his scimitars, raising his hand and getting ready for a fight. He’d slightly lowered his guard, comforted by the shadiness of the inn and the general familiarity of slightly dirty walls, and that had been a mistake. 

Someone was lying on the floor in a crumbled pile of petticoats and blue fabric, their blue tail swishing to try and gather their balance. Behind them, the window was partially open. 

“Hands in the air,” Molly ordered, grabbing his second sword. “What the hell are you doing?”

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry! I was trying to be stealthy!” A heavily-accented voice came out from the hood of the blue coat and two blue hands came out from the pile of cloth. A lot of blue, a lot of fluff, Molly noted. 

He rolled his eyes slightly. “Nothing about any of you is stealthy, dear,” he pointed out. “Get up now.” 

The person scrambled to their feet. They were a blue tiefling, with hair a slightly darker blue and curved horns relatively similar to Molly’s. They straightened up their dress, a cream attire with coral pink details at the trim, over about three different petticoats and under a dark blue coat and cloak. 

They put their hands back up after they were done putting their clothing back on correctly. It was quite well-made fabric, Molly noticed. He frowned a little. Why would some frilly rich person get into his shady inn room through the window? 

“Well,” the tiefling said, shrugging. “I’m stealthy enough to follow your tall friend to the Cobalt Archives,” they pointed out.

Molly’s lip curled back in a snarl. He walked closer, scimitar up, pointed right towards the tiefling’s throat. “You don’t threaten my friend,” he hissed. “Who they hell are you?” 

“I’m Jester!” The tiefling squeaked, their hands still up. They looked a little more afraid than before. “I’m working with Gustav and Desmond’s friends?” They added. “I was told to come and get you when the coast was clear, and once we’d checked you out thoroughly.” 

“What does that mean?” Molly asked. 

Jester shrugged, looking at him with a mischievous look. “Gustav and Desmond are good allies of our movement,” she said softly. “But their word is not enough to trust you and bring you in. We’ve been following you since they told us about you, looking into you.” She pointed out.

“Where is Yasha?” Molly snapped after that. “She’s been gone for hours.” 

The tiefling sighed. “She saw me when she was coming out of the Library so I had to stop following her. One of my friends took over though, and she’s fine. Probably taking a longer route to come back here so she doesn’t give you away.”

That made sense. Molly still held up his blade however; he didn’t trust Jester. She was a stranger who used his family’s name and this wouldn’t be the first time someone tried this sort of con on him. Desmond and Gustav didn’t have the best sort of friends, at least not only. 

“We’ve done some research, and we’re ready to exfiltrate you to one of our safest places. From there you’ll be able to wait for the next exit to Nicodranas or Uthodurn. Does that work with you?” Jester continued. “You don’t have to trust me.”

“I’m not taking any decision until Yasha’s back,” Molly shook his head. “You’ll have to wait.”

The tiefling flounced over to the bed and sat down. “Fine,” she shrugged. “I can wait.” 

\-------------

The last couple of days, Bren had thrown himself into research. Xhorhas, its people, two-toned haired individuals. It was strange maybe to research that last fact, because Nydoorin’s hair might just be colored. But he needed to do it. To follow every lead. There was little research available but he tore through books and took notes, in between turning pages. 

He only stopped to work on spells he was currently studying. 

He threw himself into it with the strength of despair. He walked to his office in the Solstryce Academy every day, Astrid and him walking side by side, a couple of feet between them, as always. He spent hours on that research and those spells, and then walked home and kept going, in his office there.

Astrid was asleep when he stopped working tonight. Or maybe she was out somewhere. He didn’t really know. His eyes were blurry with words and tiredness. He wanted to stop the rolling coil of feelings in his stomach. Inadequacy. His lack of understanding as to why he’d lost his footing with Trent. Envy at what Astrid did and had. Everything.

His elbows rested on his desk and he pushed his palms against his eyes, trying to chase the feelings and the tiredness. He wasn’t getting anywhere and the longer it went on, the more risks there were that the suspects would run off. The carnival was under strict guard but Beauregard wasn’t finding any information and neither was he.

Frumpkin jumped onto the table, rubbing over books and Bren huffed, looking at the bengal cat with a raised eyebrow.

“Are these bothering you, mister?” he asked, reaching to scratch Frumpkin's ears. 

The cat meowed and shoved one of the books. It fell onto the ground and opened there, pages down. Bren rolled his eyes, trying not to let his frustration and irritation be projected onto the cat. It was a familiar, an animal. It didn’t deserve to be yelled at for nothing.

Bren bent over to pick up the book and turned it over, reading it without really thinking, an habit more than anything else.

It was a book on celestial creatures. Bren hadn’t really read it in a long time, it had been part of some of his research when he was studying the celestial language, but he hadn’t really bothered with it. It wasn’t something he saw very often, celestials were incredibly rare in Exandria, especially in Wildemount. 

The chapter that he had in front of him was the one on Aasimars. Aasimars were to celestials what tieflings were to fiends. They were distant descendants, distant cousins too somehow, bloodlines muddled with mortal blood until a few rare traits remained. Most Aasimars were holy, with an actual halo hovering over their heads. They were linked to celestial ancestors through visions and dreams. They were Good.

But something happened when an aasimar was touched, corrupted by something evil. Aasimars could fall. Their wings shriveled and rotted; they became skeletal mirror images of the feathered white they’d once been. And when they fell, their eyes and hair turned black. 

Bren’s mind provided the image of Yasha Nydoorin, tall and pale and with hair that faded from black to white. Someone who supposedly didn’t know what her race was, all that she knew was that she was Xhorhasian. 

Bren stood up, grabbing another book, one he’d gotten from the Cobalt Soul Archives the day before that he hadn’t gotten to read yet. It was on the bottom of his pile, something that he wasn’t really thinking he would need. Fiends and Celestials of Xhorhas. 

He cracked it open, finding the index and the page associated with Aasimars. 

If Nydoorin was an Aasimar… Bren was going to gain back Trent’s confidence. Aasimars were some of the Cerberus Assembly’s favorite study subjects. The holiness in their blood was fascinating to the arcanists, and what they could do, simply on a biological level… Bren had just found perhaps the best gift for his mentor. An Aasimar born from a land of evil, with no family and no one to come and find her if she disappeared. She was perfect.

Of course the carnival and that tiefling companion of hers could cause some trouble but that was nothing the Assembly couldn’t deal with.

What amazing luck. The book he was reading through now told the story of Aasimars born in the Kryn Dynasty, of how they were snatched up from their parents and made into echo knights or powerful dynamancers. Well… they hadn’t gotten this one. This one was the Cerberus Assembly’s property now.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
> 
> Please feel free to reach out on tumblr @enkelimagnus if you have anything you wish to say!
> 
> Until next time!


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